


Drowning in Our Blood

by partypaprika



Category: Addicted to You - Avicii (Music Video)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:32:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: The woman walks into the diner like she owns the place.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thishasnomeaning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasnomeaning/gifts).



The woman walks into the diner like she owns the place. There’s a fur snuggly wrapped around her and her heels tap dance on the floor as if she’s walking down a staircase of polished marble, instead of cheap linoleum. Without question, she’s the most beautiful person that Rosie’s ever seen.

For a long moment, just looking at her actually hurts. Then Mr. Edwards loudly says, “Girl, where’s my coffee?” He knows her name but Rosie double-times it over to his table anyways.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Mr. Edwards,” Rosie says, but Mr. Edwards has already huffed and turned to his newspaper. When Rosie cautiously turns around, the woman has seated herself in a table next to the window. She’s looking outside at the soft flurries of snow slowly drifting down. It’ll all be sludge in a few hours, but for right now, it looks nice. Peaceful even.

As Rosie comes over to the woman’s table, she turns around to face Rosie. Abstractly, Rosie finds herself cataloging the woman’s face. Deep green eyes that stare without blinking, bold red lips, bright blond hair.

Something goes down Rosie’s spine, leaving her cotton-mouthed and breathless. For one wild moment, Rosie feels the desperate urge to throw herself prostrate on the floor as if this woman is one of Rosie’s Sunday school saints, a martyr who deserves and demands full and total submission.

Only when the woman raises one of her eyebrows does Rosie manage to shake off the feeling, giving the woman her brightest smile.

“What can I get you?” Rosie says.

“Eggs over easy,” the woman says and her voice is clipped and polished, like she stepped out of the movies. She gives Rosie a lazy smile that does nothing to stop the small shivers going down Rosie’s spine.

“Of course, ma’am,” Rosie says and hurriedly heads back to the kitchen to drop off the order.

After Rosie’s filled up the woman’s mug and retreated behind the counter, she takes the opportunity to study her. The woman’s too pale and poised to be from around the area. She looks a little younger than Rosie, but more sophisticated than Rosie’s ever dreamed of being.

If the woman has ever worked outside, it was so long ago that all traces of it are gone. Her hair is platinum blond, like Jean Harlow or those other actresses. She’s probably from the city—maybe she’s a gangster’s girlfriend or one of those fancy society ladies.

Rosie doesn’t mean to stare, but she can’t stop sneaking glances. When the woman looks up and catches Rosie in the act, Rosie blushes so badly, she’s sure that her face is tomato red. The woman doesn’t seem to mind though. She gives Rosie a secretive smile, like the two of them know something that the rest of the diner doesn’t.

The moment breaks when Jimmy, in the kitchen, hits the bell to let Rosie knows that the eggs are done. Rosie brings the eggs over, aware that the woman is watching her the entire time.

The woman doesn’t say anything until Rosie puts the plate down, clinking softly, onto the table.

“Thank you,” the woman says, looking at Rosie. When Rosie doesn’t say anything, the woman lifts her eyes expectantly.

“Rose,” Rosie says, catching on. “I’m Rose, ma’am, and you are?”

“You can call me Juliet,” the woman says.

“Nice to meet you, Juliet,” Rosie says. It’s unclear if Juliet’s statement has been a dismissal or an invitation to talk further, so Rosie stands there awkwardly on the balls of her feet for a few seconds until the door opens with a bang. Rosie turns at the blast of frozen air to two men coming in. By the time that Rosie seats the men and takes their order, Juliet is staring out the window.

When Juliet comes up to pay, she carefully places her hand over Rosie’s and Rosie instantly freezes up. Juliet’s hand is warm against Rosie’s and Rosie can’t help but lean into the touch.

“What time do you finish, Rose?” Juliet asks. It takes a second for Rosie’s mouth to catch up and Juliet starts gently running her thumb over Rosie’s wrist while Rosie tries to find words to respond.

“Three p.m.,” Rosie says, her eyes wide.

Juliet leans even closer, her lips brushing Rosie’s ear. “Meet me out back,” Juliet says, the fine vibrations from Juliet’s lips making Rosie shiver. “At three.” And then Juliet turns and walks out of the diner Rosie completely dumbfounded at the register.

It isn’t until the door loudly closes behind Juliet that Rosie blinks as if waking up in the morning. The two men are having a quiet discussion at their table and Mr. Edwards is still reading the newspaper. Everything is exactly how it should be.

When Rosie looks down, there’s a quarter in the palm of her hand. Juliet has left her a full quarter as a tip.

 

 

Rosie thinks about Juliet during the rest of her shift. When the lunch diners come in, Rosie mixes up two orders because she’s thinking about the vivid memory of Juliet’s fingers slowly stroking Rosie’s skin. She even manages to drop a plate of chicken fried steak when she thinks that she sees Juliet walking outside. Jimmy glares at Rosie when she sheepishly asks him to remake the chicken fried steak, but he doesn’t say anything.  

If Rosie’s mama were here, she’d say that Juliet was T-R-O-U-B-L-E with a capital T. Rosie can just hear her mother pointing out that normal people don’t leave quarters as a tip. Juliet has to be some gangster’s moll trying to get Rosie into the business. Or maybe she’s one of those women—the ones that men pay for.

But even if she is some gangster’s mistress or one of those type of ladies, Rosie can’t stop remembering the bright green of Juliet’s eyes or how, for just a moment, when Juliet’s lips had touched Rosie’s ear, a burst of electricity had sizzled across Rosie’s skin.

 

 

 

At three p.m. on the dot, Rosie hangs up her apron and hands over her pad to Joanna who’s taking the next shift. There had never really been a question.

Juliet isn’t there when Rosie walks into the alley behind the diner. Rosie stands there for a long moment, shivering into her coat with the taste of fresh disappointment coating her mouth.  It hurts, more than Rosie had thought it would. But even if Juliet didn’t come, she’s made Rosie’s day special—different than every other day that Rosie works in the diner, taking people’s orders and serving them food. She thinks back to the feeling of Juliet’s hand pressed against Rosie’s and decides that she’ll keep that moment to hold onto.

Just as Rosie turns around to head home, there’s the unmistakable sound of an automobile and a brand new Ford rounds the corner, pulling up to Rosie. Juliet rolls down the window and looks at Rosie expectantly. “Well, are you coming or not?” she says, a bit impatiently after staring at Rosie for a minute. Rosie dashes over to the other side of the car and opens the door to the passenger seat.

Juliet takes off without a second glance, tires squealing behind them. She doesn’t say anything in explanation and it doesn’t matter to Rosie where they’re going, so Rosie takes the opportunity to study Juliet, her gaze coming back to Juliet’s bright red lipstick. The lipstick looks perfect on Juliet’s lips, applied flawlessly, making her lips look soft, bold and inviting all at once. Rosie mentally shakes herself and then looks out her side window and watches the highway fly by.

Eventually Juliet pulls up to a hotel three towns away in Evanstown. Rosie has visited Evanstown a few times—mainly with her mother when she had been a kid. But she’s never been inside the hotel before. It’s where the rich people passing through the area stay. She’d heard that the hotel always has heated baths and food that they deliver straight up to the rooms.

Juliet walks out of the car and towards the hotel, never looking back, so Rosie scrambles out of the car and after Juliet. A porter quickly opens the door to the hotel and Juliet sweeps in like she owns the place, handing her keys off to the porter without missing a beat. At the front desk, Juliet flashes the attendant a bored smile.

“One suite for myself and my sister,” Juliet says.

Rosie looks at Juliet in surprise, but keeps her mouth shut. They look nothing like sisters though—Juliet’s cool and gorgeous, perfection and wealth written on her skin while Rosie’s clearly a local, struggling to make ends meet like most of the people living around the area.

“Of course,” the attendant says, without blinding an eye. “And the name for the room?”

“Gwen Miller,” Juliet says.

“Of course, Miss Miller,” the man says. “I will have your bags brought up to the room.”

Juliet—or Gwen, is it—loops her arm through Rosie’s and gently pulls Rosie to her side as she follows the attendant into the elevator. The elevator doesn’t even make a noise as it smoothly moves them up to the third floor.

The attendant unlocks the door for them and then leads them down the hallway, opening up the last door and ushering Rosie and Juliet in. Juliet immediately walks into the center of the room, placing her clutch on the side table next to the entranceway.

Rosie can’t even move—she’s rooted in place by the sheer luxury of the room. The entranceway opens into a sitting room and then there’s a door leading off to another room, presumably bedrooms, at each end of the sitting room. There’s a desk at the end of the sitting room, looking out onto the street, and in the corner of the room, there’s a large radio set.

Juliet’s talking with the attendant, rattling out orders, so Rosie sinks down into the closest seat and takes it all in. When Juliet finishes, the attendant whisks out of the room and the door closes so softly behind him that Rosie barely hears it. Rosie stands up though, not wanting to be rude now that Juliet is focused on her. 

“Juliet,” Rosie says and then pauses as she remembers Juliet in the hotel lobby, “or is Gwen?”

Juliet gives Rosie a sly smile, one that Rosie’s mother would call the cat had gotten its cream. “Juliet,” she says as she takes a step closer to Rosie. “You can call me Jules.”

“Jules,” Rosie says, trying out the feel of it on her tongue. “This is a lovely room, but I’m—”

“You think the room is nice?” Juliet says, her whole face transforming into a smile. She takes a step closer to Rosie, so that the tips of her cream pumps are almost touching Rosie’s worn black ones. “I’m glad that you like it,” she says. Her voice is barely above a whisper so Rosie automatically leans in to hear her better.

Juliet rests her hand on Rosie’s shoulder and Rosie can’t resist leaning, ever so slightly into the touch. Juliet’s hand feels warm and electric against Rosie’s skin and Rosie half thinks that if she looks down, there’ll be sparks jumping off it, like a live wire. Juliet slowly sweeps her hand across Rosie’s shoulder and up the side of her neck, cupping the side of Rosie’s face.

It’s like all the air has gone out of the room, Rosie can’t breathe as Juliet places her other hand on Rosie’s neck, curling around the back and threading through Rosie’s hair. Rosie wants Juliet to keep touching her, touch more of her, so badly that it hurts. Rosie’s never wanted anything this badly in her entire life.

Juliet leans in that last few inches, so her lips are almost brushing against Rosie’s. “Rose,” Juliet says and the brief contact of Juliet’s lips against Rose’s skin makes her shiver all over. Juliet’s eyes close and Rosie does the same and then there’s an agonizing second where Rosie wonders if she’s read this wrong or made some mistake before Juliet finally kisses her.

Juliet’s lips are heated as they press against Rosie’s, firm and demanding and Rosie surrenders to it, immediately and as fully as she’s able to, her arms coming up to grip Juliet as a lifeline.

A loud knock at the door causes Rosie to jump back and Rosie immediately freezes, her heart pounding in her throat. Juliet throws a dirty look at the door but then collects herself.

“Excuse me,” she says to Rosie and then walks over to her clutch. She pulls out a compact mirror and lipstick and carefully re-applies her lipstick and runs her fingers through her hair before putting them back in the bag. Juliet then pulls out a handkerchief, which she uses to carefully wipe Rosie’s mouth before running her thumb over Rosie’s lips. Rosie brushes the tips of her fingers over her lips just to feel the tingle left in Juliet’s wake.

When Juliet opens the door, it’s to a small army of hotel staff members who bring in with them a small folding table and what looks like enough food to feed half the town. One waiter reveals a soup tureen with cream of tomato soup, another lays down a plate with freshly cooked steak. There are plates with steaming hot gratin potatoes and cooked peas and fresh oysters. One of the waiters holds up a cold bottle of champagne and looks to Juliet. Juliet nods at him so he uncorks the bottle of champagne, the pop echoing in the room, and then pours two glasses before putting the bottle into a bucket of ice.

As they show themselves out of the room, Juliet hands Rosie a glass of the champagne. “To us,” Juliet says and then clinks her glass against Rosie’s. Rosie’s never had champagne before but the first sip is decadent, the bubbles dancing against her mouth, and makes her feel light-headed.

“Shall we eat?” Juliet asks. Rosie can only nod.

Rosie’s never had food like this put in front of her, but for the entirety of dinner, all she can think about is Juliet’s hand against her face and Juliet’s lips against Rosie’s own lips. Juliet sits next to Rosie, driving Rosie crazy with occasional touches against Rosie’s wrist or the small of Rosie’s back.

When Rosie realizes that she’s just been pushing food around her plate, she puts her fork down and picks up the champagne glass, just for something to do with her hands. Juliet quirks a smile at Rosie as if she can read Rosie’s mind.

Juliet lets her hand linger against Rosie’s shoulder and then slowly reaches back and begins unzipping Rosie’s dress. Rosie feels herself blushing everywhere but doesn’t make a move to stop Juliet.

The sound of Rosie’s zipper is loud in the room, but it doesn’t deter Juliet. When she reaches the end of the zipper, Juliet begins to the left side off of Rosie’s shoulder. When Juliet has the sleeve off of Rosie’s arm, she lays a gentle kiss against Rosie’s collarbone.

Rosie feels the heat from earlier flare up, overtaking any of her usual shyness. She surges forward, meeting Juliet. From there, there’s a mad dash to the bedroom on the right. Rosie doesn’t even spare a thought for the size of the room, bigger than the entirety of Rosie’s home, before they’re on the mattress.

And, for the first time in Rosie’s life, she surrenders herself, everything about herself to Juliet. Juliet, with her deep, beautiful eyes and her breathtaking, red smile. As Juliet leans in to kiss the tender inside of Rosie’s thigh, Rosie thinks to herself that she would do anything for Juliet. She would die for Juliet.

 

 

 

 

When they wake up the next morning, the sun streaming in through the windows, Juliet leans in close to Rosie. As she slowly runs her fingers up Rosie’s arm, she says, “Let’s get out of here. Let’s do something exciting.” 

Rosie smiles and turns to kiss Juliet. “Yes. Anything,” she says.


End file.
